


I Have Returned to You

by time_traveling_angel (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 11:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/time_traveling_angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A good dream is rare for John after Bart's, but one such dream makes its presence known. Slight fluff, non-slash, and "Tha Mo Ghaol Air Àird A' Chuain" song is strongly recommended to listen to while reading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Have Returned to You

It wasn't often that John had good dreams after Bart's. But one night, the dreams were not of a nightmare, but of when it was a chase, before Moriarty, before the games began, back when it was just him and Sherlock.

It was the first chase the two first had been on, when John forgot his cane, running up and down stairs, jumping over rooftops, taking shortcuts Sherlock would suddenly cut through…but the chase didn't end. It was as if everything was slow motioned, and he could hear his heart beat racing. But it wasn't from the running, but the thrill. Running after his soon-to-be best friend, the chase thrilled him. Adrenaline ran through his veins, and he could feel a laugh bubbling up from his throat.

The scene shifted to when they returned home, and he and Sherlock were laughing from the chase. He remembered the adrenaline wearing off, and felt more alive than he had since he had been injured.

John meeting up with Sherlock after the cabbie, laughing as John told him they were at a crime scene. No giggling. But they kept laughing a little as they walked away.

Sherlock and he walking down the dimly lit hallway, Sherlock shouting that he was on fire.

Sherlock returning from a case, saying the cabs wouldn't take him, and John laughing slightly when the man had disappeared to clean up.

Sherlock telling him to call Lestrade about the luminous Bluebell, and that it was either that or Cluedo. John remembered the last time that happened. Never again.

John feeling slightly superior when Sherlock managed to be wrong about something after the hound came after them in the forest. In the sugar…but John smiled to himself when Sherlock turned away for a few seconds. Even though to the outsider's eyes what Sherlock did to John may seem like a cruel thing, John knew Sherlock would never seriously put him in danger.

Becoming fugitives, no matter how short. The chase was on again. But for different reasons why.

As John began to wake, the last thing he dreamed was of opening 221B and seeing Sherlock playing his violin, the notes echoing through the flat and permanently winding themselves into John's mind, the melody sweet and sorrowful, but beautiful at the same time.

How he wished to hear those notes again.

The dream faded, but the notes didn't.

They kept coming.

John got up quietly, walking down the stairs as quietly as he could, avoiding that one creaky step that would give him away. He peered into the open door, and nearly buckled to the floor.

The man may have had his back to him, but John would recognize him even if he stood away in a crowd.

Sherlock played the violin, the instrument that hadn't moved in three years, the notes ringing high and sweet, playing the same melody that had so recently been winding around in the dream.

John made his way into the flat, his eyes fixed on his formerly-thought dead best friend. Sherlock didn't acknowledge John being there, whether on purpose or simply because he had lost himself in the music.

The notes rang of a Scottish song, but the lyrics had been lost to John a while back. Eventually, the last note sang, and a small silence formed in the flat.

Turning around slowly, Sherlock faced John, his expression neutral. John said nothing for a while, still taking in the fact that Sherlock, the _damn consulting detective,_ was alive after two years.

The latter set his violin carefully down on the table, and suddenly grabbed the army doctor in a hug. John could feel the man's frame shaking slightly, and hugged him back just as tightly. He could feel the cloth of the dressing gown Sherlock always used to wear, and knew this wasn't a dream.

He rested a hand against the detective's head, and said nothing.

They didn't move for a long time. The notes still echoed in the flat.

It was then that John remembered two lines of the song Sherlock had played, and the tears spilled out from the doctor and the detective from the significance of those two lines.

**"Wipe your eyes, your love is safe  
I have returned to you from the high seas"**


End file.
